Tuesday, February 5, 2013

Discussion on the darkness of the Koran

Am I the only Muslim who has actually taken time to read the Koran?

Am I the only Muslim who sees the violence and darkness in its message?

Am I the only Muslim who sees the repetition of hellish verses?

Am I the only Muslim who sees the true violent nature of Islam?

Am I the only Muslim who sees how knowledge can destroy Islam?

Am I the only one who sees how the Koran restricts minds and darkens souls?

 

Can Islam survive much longer?

It seems that the world is advancing quickly by the day. The internet is allowing us to take information from all across the web, and all across the world.

The thing is with Islam and the Koran. The more knowledge you gain, the less of a muslim you become. The more philosophical knowledge you obtain, the less of a religious fanatic you become. It's true. I am an Ex-Muslim. It pains me to say it, but it's true.

An Ex-Muslim once said that Islam will collapse in ten years. I don't find that hard to believe. It is filled with violence. The Koran warns of hell far more than it tells us to love one another. It tells us to love God, and to not fear death, for death and martyrdom will be good in his name.

Another Ex-Muslim said that the greatest scourge to Islam is knowledge, and the greatest aid and supporter of Islam is ignorance.

I don't believe Islam can survive much longer. It's heartbreaking to know that. In an advancing world, religion cannot survive. With so much technology, dogmas of religion can no longer flourish.

Friday, February 1, 2013

Message from the Antichrist


Ch.1

  Day one, Oblivion. They’re holding me down. All I can see are the fading sparks of hope fading across the dim room. The skeikh is desperately trying to hold me down to the floor. I’m going insane. He reads verses of the Koran upon my head. I lose it even more. The verses are echoing from his tongue like soothing shivers. It’s filling the room with this aura of hope, and this false sense of redemption.

  I start to shout and shout. Nothing makes sense. My parents are worried sick. They think the devil has gotten the worst of me. They think Diabolis has gotten his prize. They think Lucifer is laughing up from hell. I’m caught in the middle. I’m trying to shake myself free. Their hands are gripped tight, hurting my arms. They think I’ve lost it. I think I have.

  All I want is to be understood. They’re reading the verse that talks about how Harut and Marut were angels sent down to earth, teaching people the sorcery of black magic. It’s in the Koran. They think I’m possessed. The sheikh begins to raise his voice. They think that I’ve been taken down the seven dungeons of hell, and that I’m the devil incarnate.

  My eyes are burning red. They’re burning red with innocence. I don’t understand what is going on. My mom whispers to me that the devil is taking control, do not listen to him. She tells me that he is the one causing the blasphemous thoughts. I get more anxious. I don’t understand how far down the well I’ve gone. I don’t understand what this world has gotten me to.

  The verses of the Koran are whispering in my ears, making me more agitated. My face turns red. I’m lost in complete darkness. I’m lost in cables that seem to hold me from all angles. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. The sheikh begins to bring water to splash over my face. I’m lost in this blighted dream, this fading reality.

  My legs begin to shake. My hands begin to tremble. My life is going to chaos. The lights from outside the room were sparkling dim lighted, like a delusory sense of hope that someone can save me from this. I was caught on the floor, hitting bottom, second by second. My mom begins to cry, she is mourning my sanity. I’m caught in this web of infinite sorrow.

  The humming of the Koranic verses ring in my ears, I don’t know why. They give me hope. Maybe it is hope that is destroying me. Maybe it is hope that is a delusion. I don’t want it. I’m shouting, trying to ignore it. I don’t want to cling on to a rope that I slip off of every other day. My dad is walking around the dim lighted room, anxious. I try to resist what is imposed, but I am caught in a whirlpool of cycles that never seem to have an end. I’m caught in this never-ending circle of keeping inside what has to be shared.

  God will save you, god will save you, is what the sheikh is telling me. I am praying, while near dead on the floor. I am praying, and begging for a sign. I am pleading, hoping for redemption. I look at the ceiling of the room, as though it were the sky, and ask for deliverance. I beg. I plead. I pray. I cry. I wait. I wait. I ask for a respite from this. I ask for a chance at life. I wait. I wait.

  I have hope, it was filling me to the lungs. It felt like an outside poison. It felt like an engrained disease. It has me chasing mirages that go on until the end of time. I figure out that my prayers don’t fall on non-answering ears, but on nonexistent ones.

Ch.2

  Day two. I’m still caught in the room of the sheikh. I’ve lost my mind. They’ve got the Koran on the cassette player. They think it’s going to calm me down. I’m struggling on the floor. I’ve lost my sanity. The humming of the Koranic verses whisper so calmly in my ear. They give this sense of relaxation. But this relaxation, is too hard to understand. It is one filled with hope. And hope is something that is driving me insane. I’m too caught up in a fantasy.

  I’m listening to the sheikh talking outside, telling people to stay away from this room. I’m in a state of comatose madness. The blood is filling my veins. The madness is spiking in my mind. The chaos is flowing in my heart. I’m looking at the ceiling, as though it were the sky, and ask myself what God has done to me. I ask him where I have gone wrong to deserve this. I was always a faithful servant. I always prayed. What has gotten me to this place? What sin have I committed to deserve this treachery?

  I’m moping on the floor, my head heavier than my legs. I’m caught between reality and the distant dream of a false utopia. I’m caught between what seems to be hope, and ghost at the end. My heart is dying. My soul is being flushed out. I was always a good servant. I was always keen to have faith. What have I done God?

  I reach for the cassette player, trying to shut it off. I don’t want it. It’s hurtful. I don’t know why. I don’t want hope anymore. I want to be free of hope. It is hope that has driven me insane. I don’t want the hope that exists in the lines between the verses of the Koran. I want reality. I want to see what’s real for what it really is. I turn it off.

  I lay on the floor, again looking at the ceiling, as though it were the sky. I wonder what on Earth is going on. I wonder if I’m possessed, or that some evil demon is taking control of me. But something is telling me otherwise. I feel it, so deep in my veins, so far in my consciousness. I know it’s not a demon, yet everyone around me is telling me that. I know it can’t be. I feel it. I sense it. I want the truth.

Ch.3

  Day three. I sit down, and I have a talk with the sheikh. “God is testing you, Altair.” He’s testing you to see if you can be patient with your demons.” He says. I’m agitated. I get frustrated. I feel something boiling inside me. I don’t know what it is. “What do you mean, demons? Why me? Why demons? What if it is something else?” The sheikh puts his hand on his forehead, sighing. “Altair, what do you mean something else? It can’t be anything else.” I get up. I walk back and forth throughout the room. I’m lost in a haze of what people are telling me. I’m lost in a blight of what people are imposing upon me. They make you believe where you don’t want to believe. They make you have faith in something you inherently don’t want to have faith in. They change who you are.

  Day by day, I’m having more and more trouble dealing with the fact that it could be a demon. I just can’t buy into it anymore. If hope doesn’t exist, then God doesn’t exist. And if God can’t exist, then how can demons exist? I persist in my pursuit for the truth. I want freedom. I want deliverance. I want a chance at life. I want the truth.

  Day by day, I’m drowning further into this theocracy, this web of theology. I’m diving deeper into the man made laws of religion, and what it has to say upon the masses. Day by day, I am becoming someone I’m not. It’s telling me that I am possessed. I simply can’t believe in that fact. Something inside is driving me to find the truth. I go on, in the hopes I could find an answer to all of this.

Ch.4

  Day four, I’m lying face down in the room. I begin to reminisce upon how all of my life has gone to dust. I begin to think about how all of my life has gone to ruins. I think deeply about my state, and about what’s around me.

  I begin to wonder what these voices are in my head. I begin to wonder what they are beckoning. I begin to wonder what they are calling for. It’s too hazy. It’s too incomprehensible. I can’t understand it.

  It’s morning, and the sheikh comes barging into the room. He gets his belongings, and then leaves quickly. I hear screaming outside the room. I hear wild tongues chanting in the name of God. I get curious. I slowly open the door of the sheikh’s room, and step by step go outside. I wonder where the sheikh left. I look to the right, and I see a bunch of people gathered around the mosque of the neighborhood. I move closer, I want to know what’s going on.

  I hear repentance and heartbreaking remembrance slogans coming from the people gathered over there. I move closer, and see it. The mosque has been invaded. On its walls are messages written in blood. It’s the scariest thing I’ve ever seen. My heart skipped a beat. My eyes opened wide. On a mosque? I asked myself. Who would do such a thing?

  I read the messages. ‘The God delusion – Richard Dawkins” I read from one of the signs. “Religion is mind control – George Carlin.” “Open your eyes and see, wake up from this theology.” “You’re far too caught down, in this religion of mind, further and further delusion, you shall find.”

  It became a crime scene. The cops arrive and want to know what’s going on. It’s probably the first time it ever happened. Everyone was shocked. Everyone was afraid. Has the antichrist come? Has doom and legion come upon the people? Has the end of the world arrived? Is the end at hand? Are we all doomed? I could feel those question emanating from the people around me. I am equally scared. I am terrified. I am frightened.

Ch.5

  Day five, I’m sitting in the room, shaking back and forth. I’m supposed to get better, or at least that’s what they keep telling me. I’m possessed. I’ve got the blood of the devil running through my veins. I’ve got the wrath of Iblis swarming in my blood. My face reddens, and my teeth begin to grind. I leave the room for a cigarette.

  I feel the decay of the breathing of the cigarette as a relief, as if death is approaching inch by inch. I feel the death of the cigarette saluting me, second by second. I embrace the death associated with the cigarette. I thrive on it. I die by it.

  I walk back and forth in front of the room. My parents won’t let me leave the room to go back home. They think I will lose my mind if the Koran is not constantly read upon me. They think that I will go insane if the words of God are not delivered into my ears.

  I sneak to the nearby mosque, to see the messages again. Has the antichrist come to save us from the shackling boundaries of religion? Has the antichrist come to deliver us from an age of dogmatic religion? Has he come to bring back the days of chaos and destruction? I don’t know. All I know, is that something is going on.

  I see the messages. “Why did Abu Talib not embrace Islam, even to his last breath?” When I saw that message, all wrapped up in blood writing, my eyes opened wide with a realization. Why didn’t Abu Talib embrace Islam? That question. He was the uncle of the prophet, and knew him since he was a child. Why didn’t he embrace Islam? Why? Why?

  Such an interesting question it is. Was it because Abu Talib knew the prophet since he was a child, and knew him for who he really was? Was it because he saw that the prophet was delusional, and that his message all came from a fervent imagination? Was it because he knew that the prophet had a schizophrenic personality, and that one side of him thirsted for blood, while the other fought in God’s name? All of these questions came up, and I begin to wonder, the magnitude of the power of this question.

  Was it because the prophet was a madman who hid his true colors? Was it because the prophet was a gifted and talented poet, having the ability to brainwash millions of people into the delusion of God? Can his message still survive today, in a society filled with science? Can his message still survive today, when the delusion of hope seems not to hold on very strongly?

  These questions drove me insane. I begin to bang my head on the wall outside the room. How far has the world sunk into this theocracy? How far has the generations taken us through this theology? How far have we dove into the man made laws of religion? How far?

  Blood begins to drip down my forehead. Bleed it all out, I say. Is this religion that constitutes over a billion people simply a cult in which all adapts to the behaviours of the prophet? Is it all a cult that survived and flourished in the days of the prophet, but can no longer survive nowadays?

  I look at the skies, and I see it. I see the destruction of the religion coming. Maybe not now, maybe not soon. But it shall arrive. I see it so clearly. It cannot survive. The more we learn, the more it fades. The more we encounter, the more it fades from our minds. The more knowledge we obtain, the more it goes into the background.   

Ch.6

  Day six, I'm outside the sheikh's room. I'm walking throughout the streets wandering. The nearby mosque is on fire. It's burning to ashes. I continue walking, and I see nearby firemen trying to put out the fire. I see the fire, and I'm amazed.

  Here I see it, the mosque on fire. For some reason, I feel this burning in my heart. As if it is being put to life. Anarchy. Destruction. I'm thriving on it. The world can no longer survive. The antichrist has come to put our blind eyes to rest. The antichrist has come to put our dormant minds to eternal sleep. The time has come.

  What will we do, when there's nothing left to cling to? What will we do, when our broken idols, come crashing down? What will we do, when there's nothing left to take refuge in. The end is coming. For some reason, my heart is once again dancing with the spirit of life. It is flowing around with the anarchy in the air, and the destruction that is coming forth. I am pleased. My eyes redden, as doom starts to approach. My soul blossoms, as the end comes to being.

Ch.7